He never did answer the question.

The courthouse hallway smelled like floor wax and wet wool.

Claire walked ahead of me with her coat buttoned to the throat, and Arthur Vance carried his leather briefcase against his chest like a man protecting a loaf of bread.

“Courtroom three,” Arthur said softly.

“Magistrate Brennan presiding.

He reads every page before he sits down.”

We pushed through the double doors at four minutes past nine.

Daniel was already at the respondent’s table with a lawyer I did not know, a thin man in a gray suit who kept folding and unfolding a document folder.